


Meaning

by MsPen



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-06
Updated: 2005-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:16:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPen/pseuds/MsPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert's thoughts after he stepped off the bridge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meaning

Gazing at the river, its face like liquid glass in the moonlight, it seemed full of evil, dark things. From above his gaze couldn't penetrate the surface. He couldn't know of the secret, sliding things in the river's depths.

When he broke through, he opened his eyes, and he knew of them. He saw the slender rays of moonlight that sputtered and failed in the currents. The dark water moved violently here. He hadn't chosen this place for its rage. In truth, it had frightened him. But what he'd perceived as furious movement above was nothing but the calm undulations of opposing tides sliding like silk over each other.

There were no monsters, no horrors. Only the shocking cold of moving water as it invaded his ears, his mouth, his nose. He could not force his burning lungs to take breath and draw the river in, but he knew the moment would come and he was in no hurry.

There were things he would miss. They were the things he'd weighed death against. Death had won, of course, but the memory of those simple pieces of life he'd enjoyed filled him with a keen sense of mourning. It comforted him to know it wouldn't last long.

He would miss the smell of the grass in the jardin du luxembourg, where he'd often spent a sunny day watching children play and lovers walk. He grieved that he would never experience the taste of a good meal again. Knowing dirty river water would be the last thing he consumed didn't seem fair.

He'd learned long ago life was seldom fair, so he couldn't be angry. If life had been fair, his father wouldn't have picked a life of crime over an honest day of work. If life had been fair, his mother would have given up her insane loyalty to the man who had abandoned her for his vices. If life had been fair, Javert would have grown up outside prison walls. Perhaps things would have been different then.

But if things had been different, he might never had ended up in the river, and then he wouldn't have seen this glorious, pre-mortem spectacle perform as though it were reserved only for him.

This was what he'd wanted to feel in life. That there was some meaning, some reason behind the choices he'd made, and the decisions made for him by fate. That he'd been led somewhere, not just wandering blind through a mediocre life.

He was not a man who believed in signs, the superstitious way of his mother's people. But how could he ignore the strange way the light danced, the sudden hush of the crashing river? It was a sign, a sign he'd made the right decision in stepping off the bridge.

He'd never struggled, not even when the shock of the water permeated his clothes and stung his skin with chill. All that was left was to draw watery breath and wait, but this he had to struggle for. His jaw locked, his chest seized. He forced himself to inhale, and when he did the painful resistance of his body washed away as the river rushed in.

His lungs hiccupped futilely, trying to expel the water, but there was far too much. A burning pain gripped him, encircling his chest like a fiery band, but he was far from it now. The moonlight dazzled the frothing ceiling of the river above, and he watched it as long as he could, before his sodden clothes dragged him further down, before the red tinge at the edge of his vision grew to obliterating blackness.

With a smile on his face, Javert abandoned a life that no longer seemed meaningless.


End file.
